


Reflections of that Other Life

by legoline



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legoline/pseuds/legoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's come to save them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections of that Other Life

**Author's Note:**

> Angst, set during 1x22 "Devil's Trap". 3,100 words. Written for my lovely generous bidder over at Sweet Charity, who requested an AU for "Devil's Trap" in which season four!Sam appears and does make the Colt move.

Everything was swimming before his eyes. Thoughts and random flashes of memory whirled through his mind, flaring up every now and then as if making a full stop to allow a brief glimpse of an image, a smell, a sound, before they moved on. Dimly, through it all, Sam heard Dean’s tortured screams.

He was pinned against the wall of the cabin, blood dripping from a nasty cut on his chest, begging Dad to stop the demon, to stop the thing that killed their mom and save him. Sam could hear it, the broken helpless tone that sounded nothing like Dean at all, and he wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t. His gaze flickered back to the Colt on the table, lying there idly as if to mock Sam, as if to say that if he was so damn special he should make the thing move at least, make it fly into his hand and end this once and for all. But Sam couldn’t move it, no matter how hard he tried. He focused, zoomed in on it and tried to ignore Dean’s agonised hollers, and told it to move, imagined how it would leap into his hand, imagined what it would feel like…he tried until he thought his head was going to explode, but it didn’t help. The Colt wouldn’t move. He was forced to watch Dean being ripped apart knowing that he could move the Colt but that it wouldn’t, knowing that he _could_ have saved his brother but didn’t.

Memories. Dean taking him to school. Dean’s smile when Sam got his driver’s license. The hurt look when Sam told him he’d go to Stanford. People said that in death, your whole life would pass you by in flashes of memory. Sam wasn’t dying, but it felt like it. He wanted to look away but his eyes were fixed on Dean, unable to pull away.

He was screaming, begging. Blood dripped from his mouth. Dad—no, the demon—smiled. His eyes were yellow like fire. He sounded like Dad. He was moving like Dad. Sam couldn’t tell them apart, not really. Dean could. He’d known. Shit, he’d known because Dad had been nice to him for once and that…

He tried again. Tried until he thought the pain would knock him unconscious. The energy burst…it had been there at the Miller’s house, where was it now when he needed it? When Dean needed it? Where was it when Dean, for once in his life, needed Sam?

Sam whipped his head back against the planks of the wall. Dean was growing quiet. His head sunk on his chest. He said no more.

“No!” Sam yelled. The demon had to stop. He couldn’t kill Dean. He couldn’t take him away…  
Then the demon’s eyes suddenly changed colours and Dad’s voice piped up, almost as broken as Dean’s. “Stop it,” he said. Sam felt the boundaries loosen. The Colt. It was so close, so close…he could reach it if he acted quickly. He tensed his muscles to leap forward.  
It never came to that.

Out of nowhere, the door flew open. It smashed against the wall, and burst into thousands of tiny splinters. Thunder shook the air. Thunder and lightning. A shadow in the doorframe. Sam blinked. The demon turned around. He raised his eyebrows in surprise – no, it was more than that. The demon was shocked. His face went blank. Yellow eyes snapped back.

“No,” he said in Dad’s voice. He sounded almost, almost terrified. Terrified enough that he withdrew his hold from Dean. With a deep, throaty gasp for air Dean dropped to the floor with a thud. He groaned and Sam wanted to leap and hurry to his side, but he found he couldn’t. Instead he kept staring at the stranger that he could not quite make out yet. Shadows and darkness. It had to be nasty if the demon feared it, and Sam’s stomach did a somersault. On the ground, a small puddle of blood emerged from Dean’s body. His lids were at half-mast. He tried to stay awake to see what was happening, but he was fading fast.

The figure in the doorframe took a step and another, until he surfaced in the dim light of the cabin. Its head was bowed slightly to the ground, exposing greasy dark hair that fell over his ears in slight waves. He wore ragged jeans and a shirt that consisted of more holes than fabric, covered in blood splatters.

As the man—for by now Sam assumed that it was a man—moved forward, the demon lifted his hand to smash the intruder against the wall. Nothing happened. The demon waved his hand again; more forceful this time, but once more his powers had no visible effect on the stranger. He was dragging in the reek of death and decay. Another demon? A more powerful one? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Sam glanced over to Dean, whose head had sunk to the floor boards. “No,” Sam whispered. He wanted to move, but he couldn’t risk it. The less attention he drew upon Dean, the better.   
“You made it,” the demon finally said as he seemed to realise that his best option would be to talk his way out of the situation.

“Of course I did,” the stranger replied. His voice had a familiar sound to it…almost…almost…  
The stranger lifted his head, and revealed a gaunt face with eyes circled by deep shadows. Suddenly, Sam found himself looking into a mirror. His heart stopped just long enough that the absence of his heart beat drowned out anything else.

He was staring into his own face. An older version of his face, worn and tired and more dangerous than he thought he could ever be, but his own eyes were looking back at him, glanced at him just briefly before the man---Sam—focused back on the demon.

Only now Sam noticed that his other version had a limp as he walked, dragging his right leg behind ever so slightly. His shoulders were hunched a little and all in all he looked like he’d just come out of a bad fight.

“You killed him,” the other Sam said, his tone sharp and edgy. Three words formed a threat that made the blood in Sam’s veins freeze. Shapeshifter. It had to be a shapeshifter.

“Now, don’t be unfair,” the demon replied. He was cocky as usual, but some of the confidence had left his voice. “Come here to show him how the psychic business is done correctly?” He nodded towards Sam, whose head kept spinning at the scene taking place in front of him. Dean hadn’t moved in minutes. The red puddle extended.

“You killed them all.” Ignoring the demon’s comment, the other Sam glanced at Dean, then at Sam quickly. “This all ends now. Tonight.” A smile, wide and horrible, emerged on the man’s face. “You ready to die, Azazel? You better be.”

“You can’t kill me,” the demon said, almost desperately.

The other Sam’s smile widened again, and a dark flicker rushed through his eyes. “You have no idea.”

The demon reached out his hand and the Colt leaped into his hand, only not really. Before the demon could close his hand around the handle the other Sam made a sharp movement with his hand as if to brush something away. The Colt bolted to the right, against the wall and fell to the ground with a clang. The demon’s head whipped around, then the creature focused his attention back on the other Sam who was still smiling. His lips formed a curve that was both evil and vindictive. Sam swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. None of this made sense.

Dean moaned quietly, blinked just long enough to realise what was going on. A frown ghosted over his face. “Sammy?” he breathed staring at the other Sam, before his eyes rolled backwards and he sunk back into oblivion.

Sam didn’t move. Couldn’t. Was this other version of him going to kill the demon? Would it kill Dad too? Him next? Dean? His hands curled to a fist. Maybe if the man managed to kill the demon, then Sam could try to take him. He wouldn’t go out without a fight, that much was certain.

The other Sam raised his arm and slowly curled his fingers to a fist as if reaching into the demon’s guts, as he was reaching inside Dad’s body to pull the demon out. The demon hollered. Dad’s body convulsed. He was trying to stay inside, was trying to cling to Dad’s body. Dad—the demon—fell on his knees, rolled to the side. He was twitching, screaming, his eyes rapidly changing colour. Sam closed his eyes, opened them again and forced himself to watch.

“Don’t kill him,” he said, not sure if the other man heard him. “Don’t kill Dad! Please…”

The other Sam wasn’t listening or if he’d heard Sam, he was ignoring him. His jaw was set tight, his face a mask of stone. Sam could see that the fight was exhausting him, and the other mans hand shook as he attempted to kill the thing and rip it from Dad’s body. His cheeks were flushed, his forehead furrowed in concentration. His teeth were clenched.

Slowly, Sam moved into Dean’s direction. He’d protect him with his life, if he had to. He didn’t even think about it. Dean would have done the same.

Dean didn’t stir at the ruckus that was going on around him. It was even more unsettling considering he was such a light sleeper and sometimes woke at the rustling of Sam’s sheets. Dean being still like that wasn’t right. Sam moved on. His legs were rubber. He supported his weight against the wall. The demon’s screams still shrilled through the cabin.

Then white light exploded and Sam instinctively shielding his eyes behind his arms, dropped to the floor, crouching against the wall. He heard a scream like he’d never heard before. It went on for ten or fifteen seconds, ringing within Sam’s mind as if it was trying to shatter it. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

Then it was gone. Out of nowhere, silence filled the room, and Sam looked up.

Dad was on the ground, breathing heavily. The other Sam was standing over him, brushing strands of hair out of his forehead. Blood dripped from his nose. Now that the demon was gone, all of a sudden his face looked incredibly pale, standing out against his dark hair. He looked at Sam briefly then averted his eyes as if he was ashamed.

On all fours, Sam hurried to Dean’s side. He was curled up in pain, but unaware of anything going on around him. Sam reached out, almost too scared to touch him, afraid what he might find, and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Dean—”

He thought his chest was going to burst with relief when a heavy sigh escaped Dean’s lips and his eyes fluttered open. His gaze wandered from one side to the other, before it finally found Sam’s face. “Sammy,” he croaked.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Sam soothed. “Don’t move.”

Only he wasn’t so sure about that. Shit, Dean had lost so, so much blood. It couldn’t be okay. It wouldn’t. He’d been lying here with blood streaming from his body for far too long. His cheeks were pale, his lips white. He stared at Sam from glassy eyes, fading quickly.

“Dad…,” he breathed.

“Dad is fine.”

“Go…”

Someone brushed his shoulder. Sam’s head whipped around. The other Sam was standing beside him now. He looked down at Dean, his face a mixture of worry and—was it happiness? Sam couldn’t tell. The stranger crouched beside Sam wordlessly. Only when he reached out his hand to touch Dean, Sam snapped.

“Leave him alone!” he barked. He grabbed the man’s arm and pulled it away. “Don’t touch him!”

“I can help him,” the other Sam said calmly. Blood kept dropping from his nose. “I can save him.”

“Who the fuck are you anyway?” Sam demanded. He heard Dad stir on the floor, but his father didn’t fully wake. It was him and this creature alone. Only him and the man who had just killed a powerful demon.

“I’m you,” the man replied. He ran a hand over his forehead. “I’m you. Older.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam snorted. “Do you think I’m stupid? I won’t let you do anything to Dean.”

“He won’t survive,” the man replied softly. “And you know it. There’s nothing I could do to him that wouldn’t happen anyway.” He locked his eyes with Sam’s. His own eyes. And then he knew right there that the man was telling the truth. It was a feeling he couldn’t explain. “He’s going to do die. I can help.”

He was right. Dean was drowning in his own blood. There was no way they could make it to a hospital in time.

With a nod, Sam skid aside a little. His heart was thumping against his chest violently. Where did the guy come from? Why had he chosen to appear now? And…was this what Sam was going to become? This ragged, worn man? Battled and beaten? He pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter now. Dean mattered.

The other Sam put his hand on Dean’s chest. There was a moment of hesitation before he did, almost as if the moment was taking too much out of him. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, white light surrounded first his fingertips until it spread down to the palm of his hand. The man’s brows furrowed in concentration. Sam held his breath. Dean was moaning under the touch. He shivered. All that Sam could do was hope that he’d made the right decision. Dad was still unconscious. Sam wondered whether that was a good or a bad thing.

Finally, the other Sam withdrew his hand and leaned back. Sam moved closer again and narrowed his eyes. Dean’s shirt was still bloody and torn, but the gashes that he had bled from just a moment ago were gone. Healed as if they’d never existed. He was drawing steady breaths, and his face had regained a little colour.

“What…”

“He’s not going to wake up right away,” the other Sam said. Sweat was glistening on his forehead. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his dirty shirt. “But he’ll be fine. Give him a few minutes.”

Sam closed his fingers around Dean’s wrist. The pulse was strong, coming in a steady rhythm. Sam turned his head to face the stranger.

“Who are you?”

“I told you.”

”Then what the fuck are you doing here?”

The man didn’t answer right away. His gaze rested on Dean for a moment. “I came to save you,” he said quietly, defeated. “Dean, Dad…you. I came so you would never have to become this.”  
He gestured toward himself with a small movement of his hands.

Sam wanted to say something. Anything. His mind was swept blank.

The other Sam continued. “I come from a place where Dad is dead. And Dean…is dead.” He had trouble getting that last part out. His voice adapted a scratchy tone. Sam knew it was what he would have sounded like if Dean had…

“I came so it would never happen.”

“Is the demon back in Hell?”

The man shook his head. “No. He’s dead. For good.” Suddenly, he put one of his hands on Sam’s shoulders. His fingers drilled into Sam’s flesh as if he was willing Sam to listen, to pay attention. “Don’t ever let them go, Sam. Don’t…don’t ever leave them again. Promise.”

“How can you do these things?” Sam asked. “Travel back in time? Heal?” Dean’s breath was less laboured. He groaned. The other Sam jerked at the sound. He seemed nervous, anxious to face Dean. Like he didn’t want Dean to see him.

“I did something unforgivable,” the man replied vaguely, casting his eyes down. “Something that you will now never have to do.”

Something in his voice told Sam that it would be wise not to ask about that unforgivable thing. Even though he was curious and wanted to know, he kept his mouth shut.

“No matter how bad things get,” the other Sam said. “Don’t leave them. Ever again. Promise.”  
Slowly, Sam nodded. He didn’t want to become what this other self had become. “Okay.”

The other man looked at him, then at Dean. A smile played around his lips. The effect it had on his face was remarkable—eerie, really. And then Sam remembered that it was his own face, only scarred and gaunt. “He’ll be fine. He’ll be okay,” the man whispered and Sam couldn’t tell whether he was talking to Sam or to himself. It almost, almost sounded like an assurance to himself.

“Where are you gonna go now?” Sam asked.

The other Sam ran a hand over his forehead. His fingers trembled. The area above his upper lip was smeared with blood. He looked as pale as Dean had just a few minutes ago.

“This is not my world. I’ll go back. I have…I have unfinished business.”

Sam nodded. For some reason, he found the thought that his other self…himself…had to return to a world that had turned him into such a wreck unbearable. “You could stay?”

A wistful smile emerged on the other Sam’s face. “No. This is your world, not mine. I have to…face up to what I’ve done.”

He pushed himself up until he was standing on his feet again. He swayed. Whatever he’d done, it seemed like it had taken everything out of him. His skin shone with cold sweat.

“Just take care of them, Sam. You never know what you got until you lose it.”

He smiled one last time, before he limped out of the cabin slowly. Sam sat and stared, and only found the will to rise to his feet and run after the man after he’d left the room. Sam jumped to his feet and hurried to the door but outside he saw nothing but darkness and trees rising against the sky in shadows. The other Sam was gone.

Sam stood and listened to the sounds coming from the darkness and the wind, but he heard nothing. He shivered. The wind was sharp, blowing under his jacket.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice came from within the cabin. Weak, rough, but alive. Had he really been supposed to die? Sam didn’t want to think about it. Dad groaned. Softly, Sam heard Dad say Dean’s name.

Sam turned around.

“I’m here,” he said.

-end-


End file.
